


Is My Love Enough

by sweetkidd



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9329579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetkidd/pseuds/sweetkidd
Summary: Takes place during the events of Rise of Iron. Sigma is called upon by Lord Saladin to deal with the threat that is slowly starting to encroach upon the Plaguelands. He comes face to face with a Guardian he thought he'd never see again, and one he didn't leave on good terms with.





	1. Prologue

He’d already missed his first couple of shots and with that a small curse muttered from his lips. The cold was starting to get to him, a couple of his fingers already going numb, and with each pull of the trigger, it stung. Sig took a deep breath again, pulled the trigger, and watched as a Vandal’s head popped off, ether spilling out into the air. He’d been out of the game too long, had been firing at stationary targets for too long and was getting rusty in the process. Sig sat up, snow falling from the thick cloak. He’d been taking shots at a group of Vandals for awhile now, and his shots had only landed a few. They had scrambled in the firefight, some of them darting off in separate directions and by now they had fled, but not without Sig taking a few shots at the runners.

He stood and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He looked out into the distance, admiring the sun as it rose in the distance. It was starting to reflect off of the bed of snow that covered the landscape and Sig shielded his eyes. The thick layers of snow weren’t melting any time soon. It seemed the bright sun’s rays would not be strong enough to melt the ice on the waters either. Sig sighed heavily, puffs of air visible in the cold weather. He tugged the cloak tighter around his small frame before trudging through the thick snow back towards his own Outpost. He need warmth, needed a fire and something warm to fill him. He had red deer back at his home, warm tea too and all the blankets he could hope for. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked back, and with the sun out, the heat slowly rose, but sweeping Russian winds immediately brought the chill back. The terrain was something beautiful, something to be appreciated, but Sig’s mind was thinking about other things, about the recent report his Ghost had brought back from the Tower.

Saladin had returned to the Tower recently, but it wasn’t the time of year for Iron Banner. Ghost had gathered that Saladin had returned seeking something, or at least someone. He was in talks with the Vanguard, even with Shaxx and a few Guardians were in talks with him. To be honest, it didn’t feel right to Sig, Saladin showing up to the Tower unannounced without reason. It shouldn’t bother him, by all means he should feel find being out in the Wastes, away from most of the drama caused by the Vanguard, and yet his stomach clenched nervously when he thought about it. For a while, the winds of old Russia had felt like they changed, something in them had had Sig looking over his shoulder slightly more, had him taking more precautions. Fallen activity had subsided in the few weeks that had passed and the Devils had all become silent. Surely the Guardians couldn’t wipe out a whole race? As he approached his own Outpost, Sobaka sat patiently outside for him, the large dog wagging it’s tail when Sig came into view.

“Hello Sobaka!” Sig greeted and quickly rushed towards the canine. The dog did the same, practically flinging snow behind it and it jumped into its owner’s arms, happily licking Sig’s face.

“Oh yes, yes, I’ve missed you too! Have you been good while I’ve been gone?” Sig asked and the large Akita barked loudly. Sig wrapped his arms around the dog and hugged it before going inside, Sobaka right on his heels. Sig unclasped the cloak from his shoulders and draped it onto his bed before working of the worn leather armor and some of the shielding plates. He was left down to his shirt and denim with freezing feet and chilled fingers. Sobaka nudged at some of the wood logs and Sig was quick to grab a few and shove them into the fire pit in the middle of his home. The wood quickly caught fire and warmth started to spread throughout the room. Sig sighed a breath of relief and sat on the bed at the edge of the room. Prizes and weaponry decorated the walls of the Outpost along with a large mapped out area of the Wastes. Sig warmed his hands against the warmth of the fire, flexed his fingers and felt the stinging pins and needles as he gained feeling back in his hands.

“So Sobaka, has anyone come by? Refugees?” The dog huffed before bowing his head low, a sign that no one had shown up in the early morning. Sobaka and Sig had set up signals for when people had come by, a low bowed head for ‘No’ and paw tapping meant how many had shown up. Two weeks had passed by and no travelers or refugees had shown up, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but Sigma often needed something to keep himself busy, something to occupy his mind. He sighed heavily before relaxing into the blankets and pillows that were his makeshift bed. There was no one to help, nothing to keep him busy, and he wondered if he was even helping anymore by living out on the outskirts. Sigma leaned against the wall, curled up tighter into the blankets while Sobraka curled against Sig’s side. The warmth relaxed his muscles, his eyes grew weary and he drifted into a comfortable sleep.

 

When he woke it was with the sounds of growling and a sense of unease knotted tightly in his chest. He blinked sleep from his eyes and within seconds he rose to his feet, tossing the blanket off of him. There was the familiarity of Fallen voices outside his hut and Sobaka had his teeth bared for the fight. Sigma reached for the canon on the table and checked the barrel to make sure it was loaded.

“Ghost,” he whispered.

“Yes?” It asked in a soft tone, appearing with a soft pulse of light.

“Standby for revive.” A silent nod from the device as it floated around the room, more than likely nervous for what was to happen next. Sig had no time to assemble his armor, it would make too much noise, so he waited for the voices and listened to the direction they were coming from. Sobaka’s growls grew louder and Sigma held a finger to his mouth, commanding silence from the dog before moving towards the door. He put his finger on the trigger, and waited for the opportune moment, listening to the voices as they slowly moved farther away. Sigma pushed the door open, and saw nothing but the snow covered ground. A storm seemed to starting up, as his vision was obscured by the flurry of white. There was nothing he could see, but as he stepped out and his feet buried themselves in the snow, a set of arms grabbed him from behind and a loud roaring  laughter filled his ears.

Sigma quickly go to his feet and raised the canon to the Captain that stood in front of him. Except this was no ordinary Captain. Part of its leg was missing and had been replaced by some red tendril that was pulsing. The mask that it wore was black and red, almost ominous looking and the gun it held at it’s side was no ordinary shrapnel cannon. The Captain laughed again and Sigma took the opportunity to fire. Bullet ricochet off a Void energy shield and for once in a long time, Sigma felt fear grip him. This was no ordinary Captain, no ordinary Fallen. He pulled the trigger more, until there was nothing left in the gun except for the smoking barrel. The shield had dropped, but the bullets had barely harmed the Captain and it quickly advanced onto Sig. It didn’t even bother with the gun it held, instead, a set of hands gripped Sigma by the arm and flung him further into the snow. The cold bit his skin and his teeth clattered as the frozen wind blew through his garments

“Foolish.” The Captain spat as it hefted the gun, ready to shoot. A loud bark surprised the Fallen though and when it turned, it was met with a mouth full of sharpened teeth. Sobaka took hold of the Captain’s throat and bit down hard. Tendrils of ether smoke started to release from the Captain’s neck and it roared in anger. Two hands grabbed the dog by the torso and pulled with great force and threw the dog to the ground. Sobaka yelped and whimpered and the Captain stood over him, the shrapnel gun pointed and readied for death.

“Ghost!” Sigma shouted and a rifle trans-matted into his arms. With ease, he aimed, fixed himself and pulled the trigger. The Captain’s head knocked back and it stumbled backwards with surprise. The rifle that had been able to kill Vandals from afar with no problem, could not even kill this Captain at almost point blank range. Sig quickly aimed once more, but he Captain was faster. He blinked across the way and suddenly the small form in the distance had grown large and towered him. The Captain knocked the rifle from his hands and kicked Sig into the snow. The tendril of a leg stomped down on Sig’s hip and Sig in turn cried out in pain.

“Pathetic.” The Captain said with a haughty laugh. Sigma however, let out his own chuckle. The Captain cocked it’s head to the side in confusion and lowered itself, becoming face to face with Sigma.

“Laughing? Why?” It said in broken English and Sig smiled, a big cheeky smile.

“Because of **this**.” Sigma moved quickly, pulled a knife from its sheath on his thigh, and plunged the blade into the side of the Captain’s neck. He tugged and pulled, slicing at the exposed skin and continued to stab until all the ether had leaked from the Captain’s lifeless form. The heavy body fell on top of Sig and he groaned loudly as he pushed it off.

“Sigma!” His Ghost shouted with concern as it floated over to him. Sobaka picked himself up from snow and limped over to it’s friend. The dog licked at Sig’s cheek, no concern for it’s own wounds.

“M’fine. Ghost, I need you to analyze the Captain. Find out what’s wrong with it.” Sigma picked himself up from the frozen earth. He winced and leaned on his right leg. His hip was severely bruised with the possibility of the bone being injured as well.

“I would do that, but we’re getting a message. Private message too. Saladin Forge needs us to investigate an old observatory. Says it’s urgent and that we need to move ASAP.” Sigma sighed before limping himself back inside his Outpost. He grabbed his armor and quickly pulled it on. His helmet being the last piece, he looked to his guns and grabbed what he needed. He sheathed his knives before looking to his Ghost.

“Need you to fix my hip on the way, and Sobaka too. Wonder why the observatory.”

“I have no clue.”


	2. King of the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sig runs into a familiar face, one he'd thought had forgotten about him. Saladin orders the search of Sepiks, but doesn't give details to the situation, putting Sig into a difficult situation.

It was too cold on top of that damn mountain, much too cold for Sig. He asked Saladin for compensation in the form of a heavy bear pelt to keep him warm. Saladin, in turn, told Sig that there was no time for jokes. Sig hadn’t been joking, not in the slightest. He took to wandering around the temple, gazing at the giant statues. He’d heard multiple songs and verses about each Iron Lord, though he preferred those of Timur and Felwinter. He’d always fancied that they were closer than the legends told, but perhaps his imagination had been getting carried away ever since his time alone at the outpost. Sig looked around the towers, rifled through Shiro’s reports and questioned Tyra as much as he could about their current status. Saladin seemed pensive, barely able to keep to one spot as he feet carried him back and forth. He barely responded to Sig’s questions, simply asking that the Guardian return to the Plaguelands, search for the renewed Sepiks Prime and destroy it.

Instead of obeying Saladin’s wishes, Sig took it upon himself to ask questions to the other Guardians. Something like this had never been seen or documented, an advanced tech virus had started to consume the Plaguelands and corrupted the local Fallen. He was interrupted mid-sentence when he caught the sight of something familiar in the distance. The sight of a familiar and pristine robe, one he would recognize anywhere. The cut of the FWC robe, the Spektar gauntlets that had been gifted to him and the bright Warlock bond on his left arm. Sig felt the air leave his lungs, the conversation seemed farther away and his feet felt rooted to the ground. He watched as Ira walked across the frozen, old bridge, the wind swaying it back and forth. Sig pulled his hood up, dropped his head and abruptly left the Titan he was speaking with, his feet carrying him up the stairs and into the Iron Temple. Tyra gave him a look as he passed by her, his feet quickly carrying him towards the atrium.

He hadn’t seen Ira in over three years, hadn’t even tried to make contact. They had stopped speaking, or at least Sig had. He’d cut the conversations between the two of them long ago, had cut all communication with all of his old friends when he moved out to the Wastes to look for refugees. The last time they had had a serious conversation was when Ira had told Sig he was going to work with Ikora and the Vanguard, that he wanted to become a Tower Warlock and dedicate himself to helping others. Sig had argued that the Vanguard didn’t help anyone that wasn’t a Guardian and even then, they only helped the Guardians that made it back alive. Sig had wanted Ira to come with him to the outskirts of the Cosmodrome, to help refugees, to keep back the Fallen, he’d wanted a family with Ira, just themselves living together in blissful retirement. But Ira had argued that the Vanguard could change its ways, that Ira would shift things for the better and make the Vanguard more involved in the business of those that couldn’t fight for themselves. Sig had all but denied every word that Ira had spoken, had refuted that the Vanguard could do any good whatsoever, that they would stay behind their walls and make their close-minded decisions. He’d left a week after that conversation, saying that perhaps their relationship could withstand the distance between them, but it hadn’t. Ira had only come to see Sig a few times, but that had stopped along with their conversations and it left Sig feeling more than alone.

“Sig?” Sig winced, knowing that Ira had probably spotted him and followed him into the Temple. When he turned he didn’t expect to see how Ira had aged. The corners of his eyes were creased with crows feet, the corners of his mouth seemed more accustomed to frowning rather than his charming smile, and the hair at his temples had gone gray and looked to be growing. The happy and knowledgeable mentor that Ira had been seemed to be nothing but a distant memory.

“Ira? Is that you?” Sig’s eyes drifted to Ira’s eyes, one of them white and milky, having been scarred long ago, and the brightness from the other seemed rather dull. He’d aged, something Sig thought he’d never see.

“Thought it was you running up those steps. I’d recognize that rifle anywhere, even if it looks a little worse for wear.”

“Should’ve called for me. I would’ve stopped for you.” A bold faced lie said with ease.

“I did. Called for you twice. You kept on running.”

“Oh. Didn’t hear you over these loud winds. Never cared for the mountain tops, you know that.” Ira nodded, his hand came up to push his hair back. The snow had dampened his hair and Sig could see clearly that his hair had gotten longer, started to notice the darkened circles underneath Ira’s eyes and the rough stubble that was dusting his jaw.

“Did Saladin call you up here?” Ira asked.

“Yeah. Decided to call me up after I had a battle with one of the infected. Beat me up pretty badly.” Sig shrugged, his hood falling and revealing long red curls that were tied back. He noticed as Ira’s eye widened in surprise. Sig couldn’t help but feel small under Ira’s gaze, surely the Warlock didn’t intend for his gaze to be so judging but even so, Sig couldn’t help feeling like he’d done something wrong.

“You’re okay, though?” Ira asked. Sig noticed Ira’s arm twitch as if reacting to an old memory. The memory of Ira softly caressing his cheek, tending to Sig’s wounds and comforting him with a warm kiss.

“I’m fine. Had Ghost heal me up.” Sig touched his hip, still feeling the phantom pain from the captain. He shifted from one foot to the other and avoided Ira’s gaze before turning his eyes up towards the statues. The air fell silent between the two and Sig heard Ira clear his throat before speaking.

“How have you been?”

“Fine. Busy with work.” Now that was a lie. Sig hadn’t seen any refugees in months and had been at the outpost by his lonesome for more than a year.

“That’s good. Still doing your best to help everyone, huh?” Ira asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“I’m happy for you.” Ira reached out, gloved hand wanting to give some sort of celebration or reassurance. It was meant to be a touching moment, a rekindling, but Sig pulled away, stepped back from the touch and the look that crossed Ira’s face made Sig regret his decision. Contact was something he hadn’t felt in so long, something he thought he’d been yearning for. His body had tensed, he’d reacted more out of fear and all he could muster was a small sorry. Sig’s fingers itched for the knife hanging on his thigh, to hold something he could fidget with, something to keep his mind and heart distracted from this moment he’d completely turned sour.

“Your armor.” Sig looks at Ira, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“What about it?”

“Where is it? You’re wearing layers with sapphire wire and old pieces of armor that are outdated now. What happened to the old stuff?”

“The armor I had before wore out, and I couldn’t keep upgrading it. Scrambled a few of these off of the Fallen, some pieces are Hive. A couple of refugees had old stuff they didn’t need and I jerry-rigged what I could to help me fight off the cold. Doesn’t work so well up on this mountain, though.  A few layers won't keep me from freezing to death. Become a nice little addition to this mountain, wouldn’t I? Nice little Guardian popsicle.” Sig laughed as he pushed curls out of his eyes.

“Would be a shame for a perfectly good Hunter like yourself to freeze to death,” Ira said, a small flicker of concern in his eyes. Sig could only hum in agreement before turning away from Ira. He looked at the giant pyre and moved towards it, the flames providing warmth. Silence filled the room, except for the crackling of the flames and the sound of the wind rushing outside. Sig warmed his hands, his body and he felt a heavier, gloved hand rest itself on his shoulder.

“We should investigate the Plaguelands like Saladin has asked,” Sig spoke, his words coming quick.

“Since when have you been one to listen to orders? That’s very unlike you.”

“It has been three years Ira. Perhaps I’ve changed and you do not know me anymore.” Sig pulled his shoulder away.

“There you both are.” Ira and Sig turned to see Saladin marching into the room, a group of Guardians behind him, all fully clad in armor and wielding their weapons.

“Lord Saladin,” Ira spoke as he put distance between him and Sig.

“Shiro has given us more information. All of you are to go, in three groups, find Sepiks and destroy him. Kill anything in your way. Report back immediately.” Saladin strode back outside, haven given the Guardians their orders. Sigma looked to Ira, his brows turned down in frustration.

“Better not keep him waiting.”

  
  


“We need to head back to the Temple. Saladin owes us an explanation for this whole SIVA virus.” Sigma shouldered the rifle as he trekked through the snow and back towards their ships.

“I just want to get a small sample, for my records.” Ira had already pulled out his Ghost, ready to inspect and dissect anything that needed studying.

“Don’t touch that shit, Ira. We don’t know what it does or what it’s capable of.” Sig scanned the area. Thick layers of snow had settled on top of everything in the Divide and there seemed like it wasn’t letting up. Snow came up to his calves and even with the help of thermal regulators he was still freezing. Everything was so cold that he was breathing in snowy air through the filters of his helmet. With a heavy sigh, he turned towards Ira and watched as the Warlock cut off a piece of the pulsating cord.

“I told you not to touch it.” Sig walked over to Ira’s side and watched as the thing wriggled in Ira’s hand before slowly integrating with Ira’s glove. Sig was quick to grab Ira’s glove and rip the item right off of Ira’s hand before tossing the glove across the snow. Sig turned towards Ira before shoving the Warlock out of frustration.

“What?” Ira asked, his voice full of irritation.

“I told you not to touch it! You don’t listen to me, for Traveler’s sake Ira. You’d think you be wise about one thing while we’re out here.” Sig shook his head before walking off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ira asked. Sig could hear his feet crunching beneath the snow as the Warlock caught up to him.

“It means what it means. You don’t listen to me. Never did. Don’t expect you to now.” Sig felt a strong hand grip his arm before swinging Sig around and coming face to face with him.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Being like what?”

“An ass.”

“Thought you knew me. I was always an ass Ira. Just because I’m not begging you to fuck me anymore doesn’t mean I stop being one.” Sig ripped his arm free from Ira’s grasp before continuing to walk back towards the landing spot.

“You’re being more than an ass. You’re just being a child.”

“Fuck off, Wizard.” Sig felt a burning, a deep sensation within his shoulder. It felt like a tearing and ripping sensation, like a hot bolt that was boiling and just waiting to be ripped free from its confines. Sig knew the pain all too well and he was quick to pull the cannon from his thigh holster. He turned on his heel and pulled the trigger. The bullet made a loud ping as it ricocheted off of Ira’s helmet and Sig watched as the Warlock’s head kicked back, an immediate reaction to the sound. The burning stopped in Sig’s shoulder and he let out a soft chuckle.

“You...shot me.”

“Relax. I missed.”

  
  


“You should’ve told us before we went out into the field. We’re facing an unknown enemy, something we’re not familiar with and that’s has different weaponry and a more aggressive tactic.” Ira stated as Sig paced the room behind him. The Exo’s hands were occupied with the hunting knife, sharpening it against a whetstone.

“I did not think it was important at the time.” Saladin’s response was plain.

“And look where it’s gotten us now,” Sig said.

“Why haven’t you come forward to the Vanguard?” Ira asked, clearly annoyed at this point.

“It was not the Vanguard’s responsibility, nor was SIVA a real threat.”

“Seems like a real threat now.” Sigma murmured. The sound of the whetstone was grating on Ira’s ears.

“For now we have to worry about Speiks. Go back into the Plaguelands, push back the blight and see what you can discover about Speiks’ whereabouts. You will light the braziers. You and your fellow Guardians. The Iron Temple will stand as a symbol for the fight against SIVA. Now go and push back the infection.” With a sweep of his cloak, Saladin turned on heel and the left the inside of the temple. Ira stood there, frustration knitting his brows. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a slight headache coming on.

“Should take something for that.” Ira turned and saw the Sig was staring at him, eyes dull and expression blank. This wasn’t the Sig he was used to, not the one that was always smiling and had some crack to make at Ira’s expense.

“For what?” Ira played dumb.

“Your headache. You used to do the same thing whenever you read too much. Your eyebrows would pull together. You’d pinch your nose and you used to let out these heavy sighs like you had too much air inside you. Always told you to stop squinting in the dark.” Sig shook his head like a parent would at a child.

“Yeah, but then you’d get me something. Massage my temples and usher me into bed. You’d pull the covers around us and curl up against me. Always made my head feel better.” Ira said, his thoughts drifting to a time before they’d separated. Sig chuckled softly and Ira could see Sig’s gaze soften, could see a small smile tug at his lips. They were stuck like that, for a few seconds, reminiscing in old memories of when they’d been happier together, and when Sig’s gaze met with Ira’s, the Warlock saw a longing he knew all too well. Ira wanted to grab the Exo by the waist and pull him close, wanted to kiss him and put his hand into those red curls. Their gaze was short lived as Sig looked away and returned to his frown.

“Those days are gone, Ira.” He stated simply. The Exo sheathed the knife and pocketed his whetstone before making to march out of the temple. Ira quickly rushed forward, his moment gone but he was able to grab Sig by the arm.

“Why can’t we just go back then?” Ira asked innocently.

“You know why. You made your choice and I made mine. You chose the Vanguard and I chose the Wastes. You wanted your Tower, and I wanted to actually help. You aligned yourself with a broken faction, one that doesn’t do anything to help its youngest and brightest and one that’s too afraid to leave the confines of the Tower.” Sig roughly pulled his arm from Ira’s grasp and turned to leave.

“I wasn’t the one who left first,” Ira growled. That made Sig stop in his tracks.

“Excuse me?”

“You were the one who left first, who gave up on us. Packed your things and left without a word. Just like you always do, leaving when it gets too hard.” Ira strode up to Sig, finger stabbing into Sigs chest.

“Fuck off Ira.” Sig pushed Ira away from him, but Ira barely moved.

“Oh you can dish it but you can’t take it? Can’t handle when someone points out your flaws, about what you did wrong?” Ira can see it now, as clear as day and when he grabs Sig’s arm a second time, yanking the smaller Exo forward, their connection is made perfected. He digs deep, finds those memories of loss and anger and feels Sig’s emotions as they were his own. Betrayal and hurt. Anger and denial. He can feel how they bubble to the surface and stay there. He’s aware of the images that play in his mind; their argument, the way they both look with tears on their cheeks. Then there are the direct memories he pulls from Sig’s mind; packing, leaving, being alone and isolated. Ira realizes then that the memories he’s seeing are the ones of Sig enduring and surviving all by himself. They’re memories of being on the frontier, of surviving in harsh conditions, of wanting a touch and having none. He’s brought back to reality when he’s shoved hard and almost trips on his robes as he stumbles backward.

“You fucking do that to me again and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your gut.” Sig’s voice lowers, his threat unwavering. His words are quiet and strong and Ira knows that the threat is very much true.

“Sig…” Ira says softly. He knows not to approach the Exo, not after something so intimate as touching one's mind and exposing it bare.

“You’re just as bad as they are. You say you don’t mean to, but you’re no better than them. You’re just a fucking Hive Wizard. You...you  _ witch _ .” Sig practically spits the word, as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth like the way bile burns in the back of the throat. Ira stays silent and watches as Sig leaves the temple. Ira swallows thickly.

“Ghost.”

“Yes, Ira?” Its timid voice is soft.

“Get the ship ready. We’ve got a mission to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [SIGMA 2.0](http://www.cloakoftheunborn.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Sigma is my personal Exo Guardian. Ira belongs to my boyfriend. If you want to learn more about Sig then you can visit his blog and ask him questions over at [here](http://cloakoftheunborn.tumblr.com/)  
> [Sig's Aesthetic Board](https://www.pinterest.com/julierdesantos/sigma-20/)  
> [Ira's Aesthetic Board](https://www.pinterest.com/malleus_malefic/destiny-ira/)
> 
> Critique is Welcome!


End file.
